


to dance with a rival

by Adaire (AlaeFatorum)



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Awkward Dancing, Fluff, M/M, Mild intoxication, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), hubert doesn't understand ferdinand as well as he thinks he does, it's time for the ball!, they're both idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:02:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22656709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlaeFatorum/pseuds/Adaire
Summary: A particularly brave Ferdinand seeks out Hubert for a dance on the night of the ball to finish his list—neither is entirely prepared for what that entails.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 23
Kudos: 205





	to dance with a rival

“I have danced—” Ferdinand von Aegir began, “with every member of the Black Eagles tonight but you.”

Hubert had been, up until that declaration, pointedly looking away from Ferdinand as he had approached. He had instead drawn his gaze across the makeshift ballroom before them, watching as pairs swooped across the floor, somehow not yet tired of dancing. Others stood clustered around the tables, eating, drinking, and conversing. Edelgard stood at the opposite side of the room, he knew, and was currently speaking with Petra—she had certainly made quite the effort this evening, having spread her presence among their many classmates. He imagined that she had danced enough tonight to last her for several more years to come.

And, apparently, so had Ferdinand, if he had decided to come and bother Hubert instead of someone else. Perhaps no one else was willing to put up with his theatrics, and he had grown truly desperate for an audience.

Ferdinand’s words had certainly contained a level of levity that would be typical of his character, but it felt odd to hear that tone directed at _Hubert_ , of all people, devoid of the usual distaste and bitterness wherever Hubert was concerned. He noted, however, the slight slur present in his voice, and the flush that crested his cheeks. Someone had clearly had a little too much to drink.

“And what about it?” Hubert replied. It did not seem the sort of thing to flaunt, but then again, Hubert was not drunk. Perhaps he was particularly proud of somehow having coaxed Bernadetta von Varley into a dance. Or perhaps Hubert being intentionally excluded from the list of the great Ferdinand von Aegir’s dance partners was meant to be seen as a slight.

“Well,” Ferdinand began with a huff, as if it were obvious. And then, more gently, “Would you want to?”

What?

Hubert raised a pointed eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“Dance with me! I can think of little other reason to seek you out in your sad, shadowy corner,” Ferdinand said. A puzzling expression Hubert did not care to decipher crossed his face, and then, as if it were an afterthought, “And I would like to finish my list.”

Hubert was merely a box to be checked off, then. A notation at the end of some ridiculous list, likely to be used in yet another of the unnecessary, one-sided flaunts of narcissistic superiority he enjoyed spouting at Lady Edelgard to make himself feel better. As if there were any subject where she did not excel in comparison.

Hubert hardly felt like contributing to the problem. Ferdinand did not need the ammunition, no matter how frivolous.

... Still, he had invited him to dance. 

Hubert had shared one dance with Lady Edelgard when the night was still young; no one else had possessed the courage—or, perhaps, simply the desire—to approach him. Nothing about his appearance or personality would invite something so... dangerous.  
And it was not as if he _wanted_ the attention. He had been perfectly content to sit in his “sad, shadowy corner.” People spoke more freely when alcohol was involved, and it was a perfect opportunity to make note of enemies and allies within the students and staff alike. And, of course, it was always preferable to be focused and unoccupied, in case anyone thought to try something foolish in the presence of the Imperial Princess. So no, Ferdinand, he was not lonely, nor was he “sad”—though he was significantly more annoyed at the moment by the other man simply daring to exist within his presence. He wondered what the fastest method would be to encourage him to simply leave.

Still. He did not dislike dancing.

When Hubert did not immediately provide an answer, Ferdinand once again felt the need to fill the relative silence with the sound of his own voice in the form of an awkward laugh. Of course he would not simply lose interest and leave Hubert to his observations.

“… Surely you have not forgotten how to dance, Hubert?”

Oh, how he wished Ferdinand were not so inebriated as to miss the glare he sent at his obstinate, orange head.

“Of course I haven’t forgotten,” he shot back. “I’m not an imbecile.”

He knew how—he was, after all, the eldest son of House Vestra, and the Imperial nobility knew nothing if not how to engrave in its children a skill that served absolutely no practical purpose. But though he knew how to dance, he was fairly certain that no one had ever described the sight as being particularly elegant.

“Then what are you waiting for? I had always thought that you liked to dance.” Ferdinand had extended a gloved hand to him, an attempt at a smile—perhaps meant to function as a sort of peace offering, or a tool to achieve whatever it was he wanted—lighting up his face. When Hubert continued to hesitate, his expression seemed to sink. “Unless you do not wish to dance with me? I am certain that if I asked Dorothea, she would be happy to—”

“Fine.” Anything to get him to stop talking, to stop staring at him with those eyes, as if he were a kicked puppy begging for attention after everyone else had grown tired of him. He reached out and took Ferdinand’s hand before he could say anything else that amounted to a kind of sad desperation. Clearly this “list” of his meant much more than it feasibly should.  
Hubert moved to assume the proper form and shot Ferdinand an incredulous glare as the shorter man presumed to lead. He rolled his eyes, but deigned to allow Ferdinand his pride this once. It would make it all the more amusing to watch him fail miserably.  
“… But if you step on my feet because you’ve had too much champagne, you will regret it.”  


“I haven’t had _that_ much to drink—!”

“No, I’m sure you haven’t.” He had tried to take note of just how much of the champagne each of the Black Eagles had partaken in. He was, after careful observation, fairly certain that Ferdinand was simply a lightweight, a thought he found particularly humorous.

“What is _that_ supposed to—”

“Just shut up and dance, von Aegir. Unless you are the one that has forgotten how?”

_“Certainly not!”_

It was a wonder that the entire ballroom did not turn to them after hearing his screeching. Ferdinand was not skilled at subtlety at even the best of times, much less after a few drinks. Hubert gave the room a cursory glance, almost surprised that no one had taken notice of them. Perhaps he could survive this incident unscathed.

“… Are you ready?” Ferdinand asked.  


“I don’t know why else I’m standing here, other than to look like a fool.”

“I just wanted to be sure!”

“Let’s just get this _over with_.”

Ferdinand adjusted the hand he had rested on Hubert’s back and waited only a moment for the music to swell. Then, he took a step and swung into action.

He was a little sloppy, perhaps, but no one would say that Ferdinand von Aegir did not know how to dance. It was even possible that most people did not know that he had asked the Professor for dancing lessons only last week—a fact that Hubert was generously willing to overlook this once. He had, as of yet, not stepped on his toes.

Ferdinand looked almost as if he were in his element, spinning in circles with a smile on his face and a resplendent party as his backdrop. He had styled his hair slightly differently for the night of the ball, and the suit he wore was nothing short of extravagant, the color an eye-catching—or perhaps it was more accurate to describe it as an _eyesore_ —combination of an Imperial red, featuring gold accents and a golden cravat to match. It made him look positively affluent, and guaranteed that should anybody take notice of them, they certainly weren’t looking at Hubert, who was himself dressed in a modest, muted black.

“Well,” Hubert began after a moment, “How do I rank?”  


“P—pardon?” Ferdinand had certainly been _looking_ at him, but he shook his head at the sound of Hubert’s voice, as if he needed to refocus. Hubert wasn’t certain what was so confusing, but he was reminded by the ever-present flush on Ferdinand’s face that he wasn’t completely in his right mind—or was, perhaps it was more accurate to say, thinking even less than usual.

“On your _list_. You did claim you had danced with _all_ of our classmates, after all. Or had you forgotten?”

“I—I have not forgotten! I was simply focusing!”

“Ah.”

“What… what was the question, again?

“How do I rank among your dance partners, Ferdinand?”

There was a slight stumble in their dance. Ferdinand did not step on his boots, but he did falter. The recovery, to his credit, was swift.

“You are a very… capable… partner!”

“High praise.”

“N—no! I mean it! Truthfully, I believe you are my favorite of the night—”

Now it was Hubert’s turn to stumble in his steps.

“Surely you cannot mean that,” he scoffed. And besides, it was blatantly false. If Ferdinand’s claim about whom he had danced with that night had been altogether truthful, he was quite certain that Lady Edelgard—and, he was willing to grant, Dorothea—were much more accomplished dancers than he.

“But I do! To be perfectly honest with you, I had perhaps been building up the courage to ask you all evening.”

And then, as if realizing what he had said, Ferdinand clamped his mouth shut, and Hubert watched with a sort of confused amusement as his face turned an even brighter shade of red.  


“Am I truly that frightening?”

“No! No, of course not! It wasn’t that, it was—” He seemed to bite his tongue.

“Yes?” He arched an eyebrow as he followed their dance backwards.

“Well.” His voice was quieter, as if he were somehow nervous. As if Hubert could be bothered to care about whatever he planned to say. “I was worried that you would say no.”

Hubert huffed. “I did not say no.”

“No,” Ferdinand spoke, his voice softer still, and there was the slightest lull in their dance. “You did not.”

Hubert perhaps would have been perturbed by this unexpected softness, if he had been given the opportunity. Instead, Ferdinand’s head seemed to lift up—and Hubert was again reminded of an over-eager puppy—as he noticed a change in the music. He took a breath, then, and a look of something Hubert could only think to describe as _determination_ crossed his face.

And then the ballroom began to move in a different direction as Ferdinand von Aegir attempted to _dip_ him.

The worst part was that it was mostly successful, minus a moment of panicked flinching on Hubert’s part. Ultimately, he had decided that whatever _this_ was was preferable to losing his balance and hitting the floor.

And the other man had the audacity to look almost pleased with himself.  


“Ferdinand. What are you doing.”

It was only then that he seemed to truly realize. His copper-colored eyes widened, his mouth opened wordlessly, and for a brief second Hubert feared he would end up on the floor regardless. Against all odds, Ferdinand managed to maintain his grip. But he looked positively shell-shocked.

“I’m—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to actually—”

“Will you just—Just pull me up, already.” He took the time to quickly glance across the floor, attempting to adjust for the change in perspective. “People are staring.”

“R—right, yes, of course.”

When they were upright again, they continued to stand together, still far too close to be considered a reasonable distance. There was an uncharacteristic silence between them as they simply stared at each other. Ferdinand looked mortified. Hubert could not have appropriately named the feeling behind the gaze he had fixed on Ferdinand’s infuriating face if he had wanted to.

“I… I believe it may be time for me to retire for the evening,” Ferdinand finally muttered, almost too quiet to be heard. He left a silence that was long enough for Hubert to actually attempt to formulate a response.

“Hm.” Perhaps not eloquent, but it established the point.

“I’m sorry, I really don’t—I do not know what came over me.”

“At least you didn’t drop me.” It was better to accept the situation and to, perhaps, continue as if nothing so ridiculous had happened. It was not as if Ferdinand had truly behaved out of line—they _had_ been dancing, after all.

“Ha..ha, yes, that would have been… embarrassing.”

“Very.”

Ferdinand cleared his throat. “Well, ah… thank you. For the dance. Hubert.” He gave a curt bow, then, and, before Hubert could even attempt to think of an appropriate response this time, he made a hasty retreat from the ballroom, presumably back to his room.  
And Hubert was left standing there, confused, his face puzzlingly warm, and rendered rather speechless. His only solace laid in the brief, vain hope that perhaps no one had truly noticed this mishap, or, if they had, that they did not care.

\---

“So.” A voice resonated behind him, and Hubert could not help but freeze in place, his eyes wide. “ _Ferdinand?_ ”  


He swallowed. “Lady Edelgard. I assure you, I can explain.”

**Author's Note:**

> The world could always use more "dancing during the ball" fics! This short, silly idea came to me at 3am and I couldn't let it go; Hubert's PoV is very fun to write--he isn't the most reliable narrator, primarily because he misunderstands Ferdinand quite a bit while they're at the Academy. I hope I was able to do their characters justice!
> 
> You can find me on twitter [@celestial_tart!](https://twitter.com/celestial_tart)


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